


I will take care of you

by 2W_NikiAngel



Series: Birthday Fanfictions Project [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cat cameo we all need in our lives, Enjolras needs to be stopped and sleep for 2 weeks okay?!, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: “Did you eat anything?”Just the mention of food distorted Enjolras’s face with disgust. His stomach tightened again and his whole throat scratched. He still felt on his tongue— “No.”“You should eat something.”“Everything makes me sick.”“Maybe the hunger is making you sick.” Grantaire wasn’t convinced. He hurried into the kitchen and checked the soup with his finger. Cold. He cursed softly. “I’ll warm it up and you’ll be better, you’ll see. Although I’m not the best chef, I can still make good soups. But at least you should drink now. I believe you’ve got enough fluids out, don’t you?” Enjolras didn’t answer. “Look, Apollo, you’re not a little boy, you have to—” Grantaire sighed. Enjolras fell asleep again.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Birthday Fanfictions Project [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917910
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	I will take care of you

**Author's Note:**

> The year 2020 is, I dare say, a really crazy ride for most of us. Although I tried to avoid the chaos around me and keep my typical, positive attitude, the year itself caught up with me at the beginning of the summer, and only now could I rest. Illness, family issues and much more that took my energy and desire to write.
> 
> But today I can finally say that the first Birthday Fanfiction Project is done and I hope you enjoy the results! Thank you all for your support!

Grantaire muttered song on his way to  _ Café Musain _ . It was normal for this brunette to almost always be in a good mood. He smiled, greeted everyone on his way, sometimes turned to see a pretty girl or boy and said something out of place. But a gentle growl that meant he was humming a song? This had only happened three times in the time he attended  _ Friends of the ABC  _ meetings. For the first time, when his painting came to an exhibition of works of art by the best students of the art field. The second time, when his younger sister told him she was engaged. The third time, when he managed to put Jehan and Bahorel together because, in his own words,  _ it was getting on his nerves how both of them circled around each other like two birds in heat _ .

When he entered the café, he settled in his usual place under the window, the waitress brought him his favorite wine, and he thanked her with a smile. When he finished his first glass, his friends began to come to the cafe. Joly immediately sat down next to him, spewing all sorts of medical news (“Did you know that the brain can be pulled through the nostril? They showed us this in neurology class! It was mainly performed by ancient Egyptians who did it to preserve the brain of Pharaoh even after his death. But you don’t find it interesting? Not to hurt something as important by pulling it out of something as disgusting as a nose?”) and Bossuet, who rubbed his injured hand (“Cricket,” he said baldly.).

As he finished his second glass, Combeferre entered the café. He held several books and papers in his hands, his glasses set slightly lower, and his cheeks softly red. He seemed in a hurry. “Greetings,” he told his friends as he laid the papers on the table and took a deep breath. “I almost didn’t make it in time,” he said softly, receiving a glass of water from Courfeyrac. He drank it all.

“It’s okay, _ leader  _ isn’t here yet,” Grantaire laughed, refilling another glass. The bottle was almost empty. Joly scolded him quietly with pouty lips and a strict face.

“And he won’t come.” Combeferre wiped his mouth and thanked Courfeyrac for the water. “I was with him.” He pointed to a pile of papers in front of him. “These are all materials he has prepared for us.”

“Homeworks?” Courfeyrac asked as he picked up one of the papers and began to read it.

“A little,” Combeferre laughed, and finally sat down. “Enjolras is ill, but he doesn’t want us to get stuck. Especially when the demonstration on Rue de Bac is coming.” With that, he picked up several stacks of papers and began handing them out to others.

“How long does he plan to be sick?” Coufeyrac asked as he placed the papers in his lap. “It looks like he’s dying, and we should go to his funeral in a week.”

“You know how he can be,” Comberre said quietly.

At that moment, Grantaire lost interest in their talk. He came to the café in a good mood today because he saw a great documentary about Napoleon Bonaparte yesterday. It was pronapoleonic, exactly the one Enjolras hated. He wanted to discuss with him his military tactics, political views, and even the lifestyle he led, and still had several questions over it. Although Napoleon, as a historical figure and an important cultural icon, never really grew to his heart, and he didn’t care if people liked him or not; to be able to upset Enjolras once again was almost like a dose of an aphrodisiac to him.

Ever since he had known Enjolras, he had known one thing - the two would never have a calm discussion. Strange as it may seem, they had a lot of common, even hobbies. They enjoyed similar things and were interested in the same authors and historical figures. The problem was that they had a different opinion on everything. Where Grantaire said “yes”, Enjolras led a strong “no”; where Grantaire saw beauty, Enjolras saw filth and misery; what discouraged Grantaire was attractive to Enjolras. They were like two poles, but they couldn’t connect.

But it was Enjolras who had long tried to make them get along. He tried to talk to him, to debate, he even once invited him for a cup of tea to a famous patisserie. But all the discussions ended with politics, Grantaire’s laughter, and Enjolras’s angry face. And it was him who was the first to stop trying. He respected his presence, but didn’t like to talk to him. Grantaire knew Enjolras liked him, he proved it to him by taking the last bottle from his hand so he wouldn’t get drunk; as he helped him down the stairs to the bus stop while he was drunk; or when he wished him a birthday and ordered his favorite vanilla cake, even though he hated birthdays and didn’t celebrate them at all. It was a small gesture, and Grantaire loved them. But he knew he would have no more than a few happy moments in a year.

And so he looked for ways to talk to the blonde, to be in his presence longer, to enjoy the attention he paid only to him. And he found them. Arguing. Even Enjolras resisted for a long time, the more Grantaire pushed him, the more Enjolras lost his patience. Earlier, after a few teasing remarks, Enjolras would take a deep breath and let it be; but today it was enough for Grantaire to come to the café with a loud salute, and Enjolras was already shooting one of his annoyed glances at him, announcing sharply  _ that he was not in a pub and should behaved like a civilized man _ . Grantaire always smiled mischievously at that.

What they had among themselves was strange, and they didn’t even know if it was a true friendship. But it was something they both accepted. And Grantaire was grateful for that, though he proved it in his own special way.

Grantaire finished his bottle of wine as Combeferre finished his speech. He should have felt bad when he didn’t hear a word, but he didn’t really care. He kept running his thoughts toward the blonde, whose presence he strangely missed. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, found Enjolras’s number in his contacts, and clicked on the messages. The last time they wrote was three months ago, when they agreed on new pamphlets for their group. He took a deep breath and tapped a short message:

_ R: “I have the posters for you. Combeferre said you were sick. Should I stop by your apartment to give them to you after the meeting?” _

Grantaire hadn’t finished them yet, in fact he hadn’t even begun work on them yet. He didn’t want to admit that the only reason he had written to him was that he wanted to know if he was okay.

In ten minutes he received an answer:

_ Apollo: “Leave them in Musain, I’ll pick them up after I get better.” _

Grantaire wanted to respond with -  _ And when? _ \- a maybe with -  _ Can I get to you after meeting to see if you’re really ok? -  _ but he didn’t do it. He hid his cell phone in his pocket and ordered a piece of cake. He needed to get the urge to write to him and get to his apartment discreetly out of him.

Three hours later, Grantaire entered his apartment, kicked his shoes against the door, and placed shopping bags on the kitchen counter. He turned on the gas burner, which he lit a cigarette with. He filled one larger pot with water, poured salt into it, and placed it on a hot plate. He pulled vegetables from his bag, and as he washed them, he wondered why he felt so strange. He would understand if he felt disappointed that he couldn’t argue with his favorite member of the group today - (it still seemed strange to think of Enjolras as a _ friend _ , he never really knew if they were like that at all) - or even upset that that he had lost good hours of precious time in the café, which he could spend drinking, instead of pretending that he was interested in the ecological situation in Paris.

But the feeling that settled on his chest was new. He didn’t know the strange pressure on his chest, the pounding heart, the restless tremor in his legs, or the bad breathing. Oh, _ those breaths _ . He felt as if something had settled in his lungs. He hoped the nicotine would help him a little, and he had smoked seven cigarettes along the way to his apartment. Neither helped.

He blew out a puff of smoke and looked into a pot where vegetables and yellow pasta were being cooked. “What am I doing?” He whispered to himself, tapping his cigarette on the line and leaning against it. “I don’t even eat soups!” He shouted and took a deep breath. The pressure on his chest didn’t allow him to breath properly. “What’s going on?” He put his head in his hands and grunted. He listened for a few minutes as the water bubbled gently and boiled slowly. “Fine, all right,” he growled irritably as he pulled his cell phone from his trouser pocket and looked at the display. He pressed the message button and reopened the folder with Enjolras name.

_ R: “I’m making a soup. If you’re still sick, I can bring you some.” _

He hid his cell phone back in his pocket and lit another cigarette.

Grantaire checked his cell phone after half an hour. No new message. Enjolras didn’t even read it. He looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock in the evening. At this time, Enjolras mostly sat at his desk with books for school. Everyone knew he usually finished learning just before midnight. He said that he learns the best in the evening and has the most time for it. So it was normal for everyone to catch him at this time. Unaware of what he was doing, Grantaire tapped the green phone button and put his cell phone to his ear. If he’s too busy, it’s clear that he will not read the message. Calling is easier in this case.

When Enjolras didn’t pick up his cell phone even after the second ring, he became nervous. He tapped his feet several times and grunted under his breath. Enjolras had his cell phone almost always in his hand, and he was one of those who was nervous when he couldn’t have it with him. So it was strange that he didn’t pick it up. He certainly wasn’t one he wanted to talk to at night, but he never turned anyone down. He even picked up annoying phone calls with mobile offers and ads.

When he hadn’t responded after twenty minutes, he decided to write to Combeferre.

_ R: “Don't you know what’s with Enjorlas? I tried to write to him and call him, but nothing. Like, nothing important, we were just discussing something about posters and stuff.” _

Enjolras never refused the brunette and they were always in touch. At times, it looked like they were twins who hadn’t yet been cut by the umbilical cord. Grantaire was jealous of them sometimes, but he never admitted it out loud.

In a few minutes he received an answer:

_ Ferre: “I saw him again after the meeting. Only between the doors, but it was clear that he had a high fever. So I told him to try to sleep. So I think he’s still asleep. Which is good, you know how he forgets about himself and is still sitting behind that damn computer. A few hours of sleep won’t hurt him.” _

It wasn’t until he let out a thick puff of smoke that he held his breath the whole time. He shrugged, picked up the ladle, and began mixing the soft vegetables. He took a couple of them in a ladle, and before he could taste them, another message beeped:

_ Ferre: “Don’t worry about him, Grantaire. He’ll be okay.” _

His heart began to throb.  _ Worries _ .

Oh.

So that was the unknown annoying feeling at his chest?

He didn’t know what seemed more absurd to him. That he was worried about a guy who didn’t have the best opinion of him and didn’t really consider him a friend; or the fact that he was standing in front of the boy’s apartment, holding a thermos with yesterday’s soup in his hand after he didn’t attend the  _ Art History class  _ at evening because he was making the soup. Grantaire took a deep breath and exhaled in annoyance. He felt embarrassed. He stomped nervously. There was nothing that could be done, he was already standing there. He rang the doorbell.

He waited a good two minutes before he heard a creak outside the door, indicating that Enjolras was awake. Something fell to the ground. There was a low growl and swearing. The blond didn’t seem to be in the best of moods.  _ As usual, _ Grantaire thought, smiling.  _ So everything is fine. _ When the door opened and Enjolras appeared between them, the smile on his lips froze a little. _ So he's not fine _ . Enjolras always stood proud - straight shoulders, straight back, chest off - his hair always perfectly groomed, his clothes saddled beautifully, his skin pale, but his cheeks always in a cute shade of pink, revealing a few freckles. But now Enjolras was leaning against the massive door, as if he couldn’t stand at all. Despite the fabric of his loose sweatpants, he could see his knees shaking a little. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. His face was red and his forehead was sweaty. Eyes sunken, circles below them, wide glasses on his nose. He wore them only in extreme distress when he was really exhausted. His hair was tangled and didn’t seem to comb in days.

When Enjolras recognized who was standing in front of him, his eyebrows came comically closer. “Grantaire?” His voice was rough, hoarse. As if he hadn’t spoken for a few days. He coughed a few times and it bubbled in his lungs. He grinned and swallowed. You could see how it hurt. Apparently his neck was already irritated by coughing. “What are you doing here?”

Only now did Grantaire finally wake up from shock. He shook his head and raised his hand, which held a thermos. “I brought you soup,  _ sickboy _ .” He tried to smile, but he knew Enjolras could see how false it was. His eyes betrayed how much he was afraid of him at the moment. No one had actually seen Enjolras ill yet. He had been ill only once in the years he had known him. His vocal cords caught a cold. He didn’t speak for a week, but he still went to meetings. It was strange not to hear his voice, but being able to still be in his presence was reassuring.

But this was something completely different. “Thank you,” Enjolras said in surprise, taking his thermos from Grantaire. “I’d invite you over, but I don’t want to infect you.”

“You said you’d be fine soon,” Grantaire replied, approaching the door discreetly.

Enjolras pressed himself at the door even harder. “I’ll make you sick.”

“I’m so drunk that no bacteria can hold on to me. So hurry, Apollo, go away, I’ll take care of you.” He laughed and gently shrugged at the younger man. He knew that in the state his friend was in, he had not the slightest chance of defending himself. He entered his apartment, took off his shoes, took the thermos back from him, and went into the kitchen. He had been to his apartment several times. Alone and with friends. Almost every two months, they met here to watch a movie, discuss something about their group, which was already too secret for meeting in a café, or just meet to talk like friends and have a few drinks. Enjolras’s apartment was therefore no stranger to him. Although now he felt he didn’t recognize it at all. Formerly always a proper Enjolras, who managed to have chaos only on the table in his notes and papers; now looked like a first-class sloven. At the table where he worked, he had three duvets, a pillow, a few cups, and a bowl of something that already smelled bad. The couch was planted with books and papers. There were several pieces of clothing on the ground, some still wet enough for Grantaire to understand that they were sweaty. There were several empty bottles of water, cups of tea and coffee, and pills on the kitchen counter. Grantaire knew them. These were not pills for fever. But for pain. Grantaire always used them when he overdid it with painting and his whole hand was wooden. He couldn’t move with it for a few days. The pain was unbearable. These were the only pills that helped. Grantaire swallowed dry. Enjolras’s condition certainly didn’t seem to be better.

“You don’t have to do this,” Enjolras said softly as he sat down in a chair with several blankets and quickly covered one of them. Grantaire noticed how he was dressed. The room was warm enough due to the hot, summer weather. But Enjolras didn’t seem to notice at all.

“Come on.” Grantaire waved and turned his back quickly on him. He picked up one of the pots and put soup in it. He didn’t want the blonde to find out that he was worried about him and his whole hands were shaking. That’s why he preferred to get busy with something. “What's the matter with you?”

“Just fever,” the younger man replied.

“That’s fine.” Grantaire heard his inner voices shout at him that Enjolras was  _ definitely not fine. _ “Did you get infected somewhere at school?”

“...Probably,” Enjolras replied softly, and Grantaire just nodded. He realized that the younger of them wasn’t in the mood to talk about his condition. Grantaire therefore decided to remain silent.

As the soup began to bubble, he pulled a plate from the cupboard and filled it to the brim. Enjolras looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. He needed to get some nutrients. “Done! Do you want to eat at the table or as a princess in bed?” Grantaire tried to joke. Enjolras didn’t reply. “Apoll—” Grantaire turned, his nickname hanging in the air, and the brunette couldn’t help but smile. Enjolras fell asleep. On a chair, huddled in a blanket. Grantaire walked over to him, his hand touching his shoulder, perhaps hoping to shake and wake him. But his face looked so pleased. As if he dreamed about something beautiful. His long lashes shook a little and he breathed deeply. Grantaire pulled his hand back to his body, removed a few books and papers from the couch, and sat on it. He will let Enjolras sleep for a while, the soup can wait.

Without realizing it, he fell asleep within a minute.

Grantaire was awakened by a strange sound that sounded strangely close. He growled. He knew the sound. Maybe a little too well. He blinked a few times before opening his eyes and looking around the room. The light was still on, the room smelled of cold soup. Grantaire looked at the table. Enjolras was no longer sitting in his chair. Did he move to bed? The annoying sound again. Grantaire felt his whole stomach tighten. Why did his body respond to something—Grantaire’s pupils dilated.  _ Oh _ . He already knew why he knew the sound. He experienced this every time he returned home from a night drink from Corinth. No matter how much he drank, he vomited every time he returned from his favorite pub. 

He was about to get up and go to the bathroom when he heard Enjolras flushing the toilet. After a few seconds, the flush sounded again. Grantaire grumbled to himself. That didn’t look good. People aren't so well during the illness, this is normal, but Enjolras looked so… He couldn’t find the right word. He didn’t look bad, even with the red cheeks, sweaty forehead, and tangled hair, he looked pretty attractive. But those eyes,  _ those eyes _ . As if they were begging him to help him from the pain.

Enjolras was returning to his room, wiping his wet mouth with his sleeve, which he had rinsed with mouthwash before. He tasted a new, menthol flavor in his mouth a few times and grinned. It was perhaps even worse than what came out from them. He didn’t eat in the last three days. He didn’t understand how he could get sick. He rubbed his neck with his other hand. Stiffen. He hissed in pain. “You good?” Only now did Enjolras notice that his eyes were closed all the time. Despite the haze caused by the fever, he could make out the face of his friend, who was looking at him carefully.

“Good,” said Enjolras, biting his lip. He sounded awful.

“Come here.” Grantaire stood up and quickly removed all the books and papers from the couch. As soon as the couch was empty, he picked up the blankets he had strewn on the chair. “Lie down,” he said, Enjolras thinking for a moment that he would protest, but he couldn’t deny that he was cold. He fidgeted and took a deep breath. He nodded, his neck shot another wave of pain to his head. He walked over to the couch and sat on it. Grantaire immediately threw both blankets at him and wrapped him tightly. “Good like that?” He asked cautiously.

Enjolras just nodded. “Thank you,” he said so softly that the brunette could barely hear him.

“Did you eat anything?”

Just the mention of food distorted Enjolras’s face with disgust. His stomach tightened again and his whole throat scratched. He still felt on his tongue— “No.”

“You should eat something.”

“Everything makes me sick.”

“Maybe the hunger is making you sick.” Grantaire wasn’t convinced. He hurried into the kitchen and checked the soup with his finger. Cold. He cursed softly. “I’ll warm it up and you’ll be better, you’ll see. Although I’m not the best chef, I can still make good soups. But at least you should drink now. I believe you’ve got enough fluids out, don’t you?” Enjolras didn’t answer. “Look, Apollo, you’re not a little boy, you have to—” Grantaire sighed. Enjolras fell asleep again. Sitting, wrapped in a blanket. Grantaire wondered for a moment if he should wake him, but in the end he decided it would be better for him to sleep. It could just make him sick again. He walked over to him and slowly laid him on his side. As he picked up one of his small pillows and lifted his head a little higher than his body, his hand hit his forehead. “Oh God,” Grantaire whispered, almost frightened. He placed his palm on his forehead. Enjolras was warm like a stove. He gently moved his palm to his cheeks. The same result. Then to his neck, where he felt the artery, which drummed gently to the beat of his beating heart. It was a little warmer there. “This isn’t good.”

Grantaire got up and looked around the room. He had no idea what he should do now. Reheat the soup for him? Buy him some fever medicine? Call a doctor? Enjolras shook again. He still seemed cold. Next to the room that served as the living room, Enjolras had his own bedroom. Grantaire came in and took a red duvet from the bed. The bedroom was in the same condition as the living room. Maybe there were more dirty clothes. A single piece of paper with the hospital emblem laid on his desk. Grantaire knew he shouldn’t be interested in the letter and should go back to Enjolras, but curiosity was stronger. He walked over to the table and carefully picked up the letter.

It was not a letter, but a medical report.

_ Patient: Enjolras, Alexander Aurélius _

_ Born: 24. 12. 199X _

_ Hospitalization: XX.7 - XX.7.2020 _

_ Reason for hospitalization: Collapse _

_ Examination: The patient came to a request from his district doctor. The patient complained of chest pain and general weakness. Pressure low, temperature high (fever, 39.5), there was an excess of protein in the urine. While taking the blood, the patient began to complain of blurred vision, fainting for a while. After awakening, the patient started vomiting. The patient was taken to hospital and given an infusion of food and fluids. The patient cooperated in an exemplary manner during transport to the hospital and subsequent hospitalization. The patient soon felt better. _

_ The reason for the collapse of the body was long-term overwork, neglect of food and fluid supply, rapid weight loss (5 kilos during the week). _

_ Result: The patient was discharged to home care. _

_ Medication: XX - pills for fever (2x daily, morning + evening), XX - pills for weakness (1x daily, morning), XX - pills for nausea (as needed), XX - pills for pain (as needed) _

_ Recommendation: A lot of rest. Great emphasis on body hydration. Diet food only. _

_ Conclusion: If the problems persist, the patient is advised to see a doctor again. If the patient continues to vomit, even if he only drinks fluids, the patient is advised to call an ambulance and be re-hospitalized. _

It was normal for Enjolras not to know his limits, and at times he fainted from exhaustion. But get ill? He was old enough to take care of himself. And also smart enough to know that it’s terrible stupidity to do something like that.

Grantaire grit his teeth. How could Enjolras be so stupid? Didn’t everyone tell him to take care of himself? Everyone saw how hard he worked. And for what? For better school results? A better job? Better society? That could have waited. One pause in life hasn’t killed anyone yet. But overworking? Yes.

Grantaire was worried about Enjolras, but now he could feel something else bubbling inside him. Rage. He was angry at the -  _ cute, beautiful, ethereal _ \- blonde. Didn’t he know how much they cared about him? Why did he do this, voluntarily, to himself?

He put the message back on the table. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Joly’s number. He knew that he could always help him and listen to him, no matter how stupid his questins were. And this was definitely not stupid.

“‘ _ Taire, how are you _ ?” Joly’s voice was relaxed and happy. As always. He could always count on his friend’s good mood. 

“Not so good, Joly,” he said truthfully, and before Joly could ask what was going on and put on his typical, protective tone, which clearly said  _ Who hurt my beloved ‘Taire, will be rewarded with my fist! _ , he said, “Enjolras isn’t as well as tells Combeferre.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I went to see him today, you know what, I just got my way around.” He heard Joly chuckle. Enjolras and Grantaire lived an hour’s metro ride away. Even the schools they attended were far apart. The only way the two could meet each other in town was when they decided to come to Café Musain at the same time. But otherwise it was practically impossible. Joly knew this, but said nothing. He knew how much Grantaire cared about Enjolras. Maybe that’s why he felt how nervous and a little upset his voice sounded, so he decided not to comment on it. “The corpse opened the door for me. I’m not kidding. Corpse. Pale as a wall, thin, dressed as... well, it still suited him, but he just was -  _ different _ . And like,  _ badly different _ . Not as  _ different  _ as you hope, like maybe one day you’ll see Bossuet in that favorite checkered T-shirt and you’ll immediately give head to each other. Not - as if you saw the Eagle in that leather jacket.”

“ _ He looks like some stupid biker, _ ” Joly grumbled annoyed.

“That’s exactly what I mean! Well, I cooked soup yesterday, so I thought -  _ hey, I have a sick friend, so I’ll bring him some too _ . Well, he didn’t take any because he fell asleep, and then I fell asleep too, but it’s not important, just - then I woke up because our amazing leader was vomiting. Loudly. And immediately he fell asleep again. And just as he was strangely fidgeting, so I thought -  _ Yeah, he’s probably cold, I’ll bring him another duve _ t. And guess what? I found a medical report on the table. Medical report, Joly. Do you know how he wrote us that he would be away for a week because of some shitty school project? Bullshits! He was in the hospital! In. Hos-pi-tal. They gave him some fucking infusion. And wait, wait, wait until I read you why. Wait.” Grantaire picked up the paper again. “ _ The reason for the collapse of the body was long-term overwork, neglect of food and fluid supply, rapid weight loss, 5 kilos during the week _ . Five kilos. Five! He should start a weight loss counsel, a woman would rip his hands off for this!” With that, he placed the paper on the table with a loud bang. It was clear to him that the neighbors must have heard. But now he didn’t care. He just felt upset. “And is it even possible to be like this because he doesn’t have enough rest?”

Joly was silent for a moment. “ _ Yes, it is _ .” Grantaire noticed that something in his voice sounded strange. As if he were thinking of something. “ _ If you exhaust your body for a long time, you will reach your imaginary limit. A lot of people feel it, they start to feel bad, they feel sick or they have that ugly feeling that something is wrong, but they don’t know why. Most people stop, slow down, or rest at that moment, and take care of themselves until they feel better. For some, it only takes a few hours, but there are people who need a longer break. And then there are people like Enjolras - either they don’t feel the border, or they try not to perceive it and overcome it despite knowing that they know it’s going to hurt them _ . _ I hope Enjolras belongs to the first group, although a lot of reasons tell me he’s in the second.”  _ He breathed aloud, and Grantaire joined him _. “Fainting, vomiting, fever - that’s just the beginning. In essence, he can be glad he’s just like that. Does it say anything about any medication? _ ”

“They wrote him some pills, yes,” Grantaire replied, but he didn’t have the strength to look at the paper again.

“ _ Good. Do you think you could ask him if he takes them regularly? _ ”

“He’s asleep,” Grantaire said. “But when he wakes up, I’ll ask him.”

“ _ It may take a long time _ .”

“I don't mind staying with him.” Grantaire heard Joly chuckle. “What?”

“ _ Nothing, ‘Taire,” _ Joly said in his typical, cheerful voice. “ _ It’s nice of you to stay with him. In fact, I’m surprised something hasn’t happened to him yet. In such a state, he could faint in the wrong place and, for example, be injured in a fall and hit his head. Or faint in the bathtub. Suffocate vomit. _ ”

“Jesus, don’t make a horror of it right away, Joly!” These catastrophic scenarios made him nervous. He didn’t think about them at all, but now that Joly had said it out loud, they all seemed too real. “He's just sick.” He tried to reassure himself.

_ “Yes, he is.” _ Joly was smiling again on the other side of the aparat. Grantaire felt the smile. As if trying to calm him down. “ _ It’s nice of you _ ,” he repeated. “ _ It would be good to watch out for him over the evening, maybe note if he won’t vomit again, if he tries to eat something, if he takes pills. Especially, if possible, try forcing him to drink some water or make him bitter, black tea. Just lukewarm so that the hot thing wouldn’t make it worse. He’s definitely dehydrated. We both know him very well. He watches the others, but forgets about himself.”  _ Grantaire growled in agreement. “ _ I’ll come up with something by tomorrow. But if it gets worse and the temperature is higher than forty degrees, you better call a doctor. I’d rather pay him a bed for a few days in hospital than buy him catering for a funer— _ ”

“He’ll be fine,” Grantaire said in a slightly rougher voice. He didn’t want to hear the word to  _ f _ . 

Joly laughed. “ _ I see, ‘Taire. So please watch out for our leader.” _

“Roger that. Thanks for help, Joly.” 

_ “Everything for you, ‘Taire. Goodnight. _ ”

“Goodnight. ”With that, their call ended. When he went to the living room with a duvet, Enjolras didn’t move in his sleep. He threw a duvet from the bedroom over him and sat down in the chair across. He watched his face for a moment. He looked as if nothing bothered him at all. If his cheeks didn’t shine with dark red color, he wouldn’t really know the difference from his normal appearance.

Grantaire looked at his watch. Five minutes past eleven at night. He looked around the room and focused on the books that lay everywhere. History of France. Political science. Legal systems. International contracts. Criminal Code. History of the Criminal Code. Everything is just as boring and lifeless. “The least evil,” he said to himself as he reached for a book called  _ The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte _ . He turned off the big light, turned on the table lamp, and began to read.

The evening ended much faster than he expected. He didn’t like the book, but he finished it. It was already dawn over Paris when he read the last page. He made tea and had one of his joyous morning cigarettes on the balcony. He watched the sun rise, coloring the sky in shades of pink and orange, trying to draw strength from the breeze that was rummaging through his restless hair. Normally he would have enjoyed the view — he was always a little envious of Enjolras that he could afford such a spacious and luxurious apartment opposite the Eiffel Tower and look at the _ scums  _ below it from the seventh floor — but his eyes still ran into the room behind him.

Enjolras didn’t move at all during his sleep. He only took one deep breath, kicked one of the duvets from him and muttered something. That was all. Grantaire was so taken aback that he watched Enjolras for a full twenty minutes without blinking.

He tipped a cigarette against the railing and threw it down from the balcony. He entered the apartment and finished his tea. He sat back in his chair and looked at Enjolras’s sleeping face.

There was a knock on the door. Grantaire winced and looked at his watch. It was seven in the morning. “Joly,” he whispered to himself, rising from his seat. He opened the door and wanted to fall into his friend’s arms, perhaps complaining a little about how he hadn’t slept; but he changed his mind quickly. His brown-haired friend wasn’t standing outside the door. “Combeferre,” he said in surprise.

“Good morning,” the younger greeted him, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stepped away from the door and let Combeferre come into the hall. The younger of them looked around the apartment. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“What?”

“You know how much Enjolras loves cleanliness.” Grantaire just nodded. “Even if he’s stressed or has too much to do, he cleans. That’s why this makes me a little nervous.” He threw his arms around to indicate that he was thinking of the mess they had to go through.

“Do you know I can hear you?” They both looked into the living room. Enjolras was upright on his elbows, looking at them. He blinked, and it was clear that he had only woken up a while ago. Probably after Grantaire left opened the door. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Enjolras, you’re probably at your worst.” Combeferre just shook his head and walked over to his friend. He sat down on a low table beside the couch and checked his forehead with his hand. He had to withdraw his hand immediately, feeling as if he had just been burned. “You’re terrible, you know that?” The redhead asked angrily, adjusting his glasses again. “You lied to me. You said you were better.”

“But I’m better.” Combeferre shot one of his typical, dissatisfied glances at the younger man. “A little.”

“I don’t believe you,” Combeferre said, taking his backpack off his back. He pulled a box of pills out of it. “Take one pill every night before you go to bed. Before that, eat at least half a dry croissant so you don’t get sick. They don’t taste very good.”

Enjolras sat down and took the box from him. He returned it to him immediately. “I already have them.”

“The supply won’t hurt you. God knows how long you will be in this state.”

“But I’m—” He didn’t finish when he saw the look his best friend gave him. He bit his lip. He preferred to focus his gaze back on the medicine box. “That’s all?”

Combeferre nodded. “I have to be at school in an hour, today we are preparing for a neurology exam. But let me say this - rest, please. You know you’re overworking yourself. We’ve talked about it a thousand times already. There is nothing wrong with taking a break. You don’t just have to lie down and look at the ceiling and think about your future; all you have to do is sit outside and read or do something very unpretentious for a while.”

“I can’t,” Enjolras said in a slightly rougher voice. Grantaire didn’t know if it was because of a sore throat or that he wanted to sound more vigorous. “I need to finish a lot of things.”

“So you don’t want to finish them at all?” Enjolras frowned at him. “If you’re sick, you’ll do it wrong anyway. At the best,” he said.

“In the worst?”

“You’ll be even worse and go to the hospital again.” Enjolras blinked in confusion. “Grantaire told Joly this yesterday.” The blond looked at Grantaire, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, examining his hands, from which he still couldn’t wash the blue paint. It's been a week and he still looked like a coloring book. He didn’t want to look like he was listening to them. “Indeed, Enjolras. Take care of yourself. Get out. Rest. Drink a lot and try to eat a little. Grantaire said you vomited. How often?”

“It was only the second time yesterday.”

“So it’s getting worse.” Combeferre didn’t let himself be beaten. “Please, Enjolras, do it for yourself.” Enjolras looked at both of his friends, thought for a moment, then sighed aloud. He nodded to indicate that he understood. “Great.” Combeferre smiled broadly at him. “I have to go. Grantaire, are you coming with me?” He got up and looked at the brunette, who was finally no longer interested in his hands.

“Me?” Grantaire asked in surprise. “Um, well.” He looked at Enjolras, who was reading the medicine leaflet. He seemed to want the two of them to leave, and wanted to be alone for a while. “Yeah. I could also show up in school once in a while.”

They both said goodbye to the blonde and left his apartment. They said nothing all the way. Out of the corner of his eye, Combeferre was still watching Grantaire who looked absently. He could see how worried he was about the younger. On the one hand, he understood that - as a friend he was afraid of him too - on the other hand, he couldn’t help but smile. Everyone knew that Grantaire felt something for Enjolras. Everyone who appeared within a kilometer had to feel the love he spewed at the younger with his insults and witty remarks. Who came a little closer to them saw the stars in his eyes whenever the younger spoke to him; the way his forehead flushed and his pupils dilated. Everyone knew that Grantaire, the sarcastic artist, was in love with Enjolras.

But sometimes it occurred to him that the only ones who didn’t know were the two of them. Enjolras was blind to everything to do with interpersonal relationships. Grantaire got burned so many times that he didn’t even want to think about something like  _ love _ anymore. Sometimes the others wanted to knock their heads together so that they would finally light up in them. But then they always said to themselves that they were old enough to fight for their lives on their own.

Combeferre sighed aloud.  _ Like little boys, _ he thought. “He’ll be okay, Grantaire.”

Grantaire winced and looked at the taller one. “W-what, please?”

“Enjolras. He’ll be okay.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said, trying to sound like he didn’t care. But the look was full of nervousness. “Just…”

“Just?”

“I’ve never seen him like that.”

“He’s sick, it’s normal that he doesn’t look his best.”

“I didn’t mean that, he looked so…  _ weak _ .” Grantaire whispered the last word. It was almost as if he was afraid of it. “Sorry, I should—”

“There’s a really good patisserie on our school’s campus,” Combeferre interrupted, pointing toward his university. “Enjolras’s school is three blocks away, so we often go to school together. He buys coffee and something sweet for breakfast every morning. The owner loves us, so she always gave us the best things. But I’m not surprised anymore, we’ve left enough money there over the years.” Combeferre smiled at the memory of their common mornings. He missed them. And Enjolras had only been home a week and a half. The two really weren’t just friends - rather brothers. “If I tell her that Enjolras is ill, she will certainly send him something. But I won’t have time to go back and give it to him. Do you think that you—”

“Sure!” Grantaire shouted more eagerly and louder than he intended. Combeferre just laughed.

“What are you doing here again?” Enjolras asked in surprise as he opened the door.

“What a pleasing welcome,” Grantaire replied, seemingly offended, gently pushing into the younger of them and entering the apartment without invitation. He immediately went to the kitchen and began unpacking two full shopping bags. “It was immediately clear to me that even if you were still on _ those internets _ , you wouldn’t even be able to order something. So I bought some staple foods to keep you from starving. Would you like a ratatouille?”

“No,” Enjolras said as he entered the living room and sat down at the table. “I’m not hungry.”

“Clearly. What did you eat today?” He looked at the empty plate on which he had warmed the vegetable soup last night. “Did you eat it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras replied, sipping from his mug and focusing his gaze on the computer.

“So why is it in the trash?” Grantaire pointed to an open basket, around which two flies flew and landed on the remnants of vegetables. Enjolras stopped typing something for a moment, but immediately returned to his work. Grantaire just sighed. “You should rest.”

“I’m resting.”

“I’m talking to you, and you’re still looking at the computer.”

“I don’t do anything physically demanding, so it can be considered a rest. I’m doing some work, but I’m not exhausted.”

“What are you drinking?” Grantaire asked as he saw Enjolras drink several times from a cup.

“Coffee."

“You kidding me right? You can’t drink caffeine in this state! I’ll make you tea.”

Enjolras stopped writing and looked at him. “There’s more caffeine in tea than in coffee.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked in surprise, and Enjolras just nodded. “I didn’t know that…” He grunted something under his breath and then just shrugged. “But it’s still better than coffee, so hold on, I’ll make you my delicious ginger tea. That will bring you back on your track!” Enjolras just rolled his eyes and returned to his work. “I was at your favorite bakery today, where you and Combeferrer go. I have to say that Mrs. Lafayette is a really nice lady! She made me some baguettes for you. Look, I’m sorry, but I eated one along the way. It was really great! You should eat something too. You didn’t eat anything at all, did you?” No answer. “It was clear to me. And weren’t you sick again?” No answer. “I hope this doesn’t mean yes too. I should probably give you a biscuit. Biscuit. Sounds like for a dog, don’t you think?” No answer. “What, Apollo?” No answer. “Apollo?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who paid no attention to him. A deep groove formed between his eyebrows. He always had this when he thought about something and the world around him ceased to exist.

Grantaire made tea, put a baguette and a few grape berries on a plate, set them on the couch table, and walked over to Enjolras. Without asking, he closed his laptot, almost squeezing Enjolras’s fingers between the display and the keyboard. “Hey!” Enjolras shouted indignantly and frowned.

“So, that’s how you’ll notice me, great!” With that, he took Enjolras by the shoulder and made him stand up. Enjolras, still quite weak, couldn’t fight Grantaire’s strength. He let himself be pushed onto the couch, where the brunette wrapped him in a thick blanket with plush. He expertly tied a knot around his hips, shoved a cup of tea into his right hand, and a plate of food into his other. He sat down at the table and took a deep breath. “You’re worse than a little kid.” Enjolras frowned at him. “Seriously. I didn’t have that kind of trouble, even when my sister was little. And that she is as stubborn as a goat!”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’s tone sounded warning. “Be quiet.”

“No, no, no, you’ll hear this nicely, Apollo. If you decide—”

“Be quiet,” Enjolras repeated, closing his eyes. “My head hurts.” He blinked a few times and looked at the brunette, who was looking at him intently. “You speak... too loud.”

Only now did Grantaire realize how quietly Enjolras had been talking all along. The monitor display was dimmed to the lowest brightness. The blinds were drawn and no sunlight streamed into the room. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire said immediately, lowering his volume a little. “It’s just that we’re all going to worry about you like that. Everyone already knows that you’re not feeling well, and although Combeferre reassures everyone, Prouvaire and Joly are already planning how they must come here and help you with something.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Grantaire said with a laugh, looking around. There was perhaps an even bigger mess than yesterday. Grantaire would have sworn Enjolras blushed — perhaps ashamed — but he didn’t comment on it. “So what did you tap into the computer so vehemently?”

“I need to write one more article. I have to put three, at least two thousand words each, into the newspaper. It was a bit of hard work when my head was spinning, but I’m almost done. They called me from school and the newsroom today. I also had to confirm help for a wheelchair charity that awaits me in two weeks. I still needed to make an appointment with my classmate, with whom we are to fly to a student conference in Brussels in two months, but—”

“Enough,” Grantaire said with his hands raised in front of him. To his surprise, Enjolras really stopped talking. “You have a lot. I see.” Enjolras just nodded. “But won’t it be better if you lie down now, heal, and then work on it? Combeferre was right. Killing yourself from overworking won’t help anyone.”

Enjolras smiled. “I don’t think he said anything like that.”

“Something along those lines.” Grantaire returned the smile.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Grantaire looked at Enjolras as if seeing him for the first time. His hair was finally combed, but he pulled them back with a headband so that it looked less thick than normal; the circles under the eyes were almost dark brown; his fingers shook a little. Enjolras felt insecure under his eyes. He drank his tea quickly. He blinked in surprise. Unlike anything he tried to eat or drink, the tea stroked his sore throat pleasantly, and a hot, sweet, and slightly pungent taste melted in his mouth. He looked at Grantaire, who was just smiling. “I put some honey and lemon inside it. It should help you a lot. Mom used to make it for us when my sister and I were sick.” With that, he got up and walked back to the kitchen. “When you so rudely threw away my great soup, do you want to make fresh one? Than you can have it for dinner.”

“...Okay,” Enjolras replied softly, and Grantaire smiled.

Grantaire played his favorite music on his headphones for cooking and sometimes sang softly. Enjolras stared at him for a moment. He frowned. He looked at the cup, at the level of black tea. He had no idea what was that pleasant, warm feeling that had melted on his chest and pounded his heart. “Must be the tea,” he whispered to himself, sipping again.

When Grantaire cooked, he forced Enjolras to bite his baguette at least twice. Although Enjolras protested, he eventually succumbed to Grantaire’s pressure. Eventually he ate the whole thing. But he hissed in pain he felt from his throat and the pressure in his stomach started to be unbearable. The brunette therefore forced him to sleep for a while. Enjolras didn’t want to listen to him — he was old enough to make his own decisions — but without planning, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Grantaire, meanwhile, cleaned up his entire apartment. When Enjolras woke up in the evening, he had a hot soup with Grantaire and went to bed. He didn’t even think about why his sheets smelled so beautiful and he didn’t trip over any books along the way.

You could say they fell into the routine. Enjolras always woke up, changed his sweaty clothes, and went to the bathroom. As soon as he came out of the bathroom, Grantaire was waiting for him with hot tea and some food. He kept talking - he often complained about school, about professors, about his work, about how he wanted to be an artist and he couldn’t do it - but unlike other days, he spoke quietly and calmly. He kept adjusting Enjolras’s blanket so that it would not fall off his shoulders. He let him work, but often disturbed him to drink or take medicine. Enjolras always fell asleep on the couch. Grantaire woke him after two hours and helped him into the bedroom. It never occurred to Enjolras that all his clothes were always clean and the dishes washed.

When Enjolras woke up a week later, breakfast, hot tea, juice, and medicine lay on a table beside his bed. Next to the lamp lay a piece of paper with his name on it. Enjolras sat down slowly on the bed and opened the paper. “ _ I went to school, if you need anything, let me know. If you want, I can come after school and maybe cook something for you again. Or we can just talk. Well. Yeah? - R” _ .

“Oh,” Enjolras whimpered, reaching for his chest. He felt his heart pound. Does he still have a fever? His condition started to be better, right? He quickly reached for the tray of food and swallowed all the pills at once. He could feel their bitter taste in his mouth, but he tried to ignore it. He closed his eyes and lay back in the duvet. “ _ Or we can just talk. _ ” Enjolras opened his eyes. What could the two of them talk about? After all, in recent years they have been able to argue about everything. He blinked. But they’ve been having a good time together the last week. He didn’t mind Grantaire's presence, he even felt that — His heart was pounding again. “What is it?” He whispered to himself and rolled onto his side. Why does his body start to behave so strangely every time he remembers Grantaire? As if—

Enjolras sat up abruptly. “No,” he said to himself, putting his hand on his chest. “No.” The heart was pounding a little faster. As if trying to tell him something. Something that actually scared him so much. “No, no, no,” he said, standing up. His head immediately became tangled, black before his eyes. He leaned his hands on the bedside table and began to breathe deeply. When he saw again, he changed quickly. His thoughts tried to utter nonsense. Stupid things that couldn’t happen. Definitely not him. He walked over to his shoebox and put on his boots with which he ran every morning. He put on a light, summer jacket and buttoned it up to his neck. As soon as he went out into the hallway, he shivered. He was still cold. His forehead was sweaty. He was still quite hot and sick.

But now he didn’t care. He needed to clear his head. As quickly as possible!

Grantaire was working on his new work, loud music sounded through the whole room, tapping his feet to the beat. “What is it?” He jumped in fright when he felt his whole leg vibrate. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and wanted to end the call. Whenever he created, he needed to concentrate. He didn’t like being disturbed. However, when he saw the name that appeared on the display, he turned off the music, dropped the brush on the ground — he knew he would regret it later, it was a pretty expensive one — and clicked on the green phone icon. “Apollo?” He heard nothing on the other side. “Apollo?” He tried again, still hearing nothing. That he would dial it inadvertently? “Is that your ass calling me?” He tried to laugh, but he could feel the dumpling in his throat. He didn’t know what made him so uncomfortable with the call. He had a strange feeling in his stomach. As if something had happened. “Apol—” Before he could finish his nickname, he heard a moan.  _ Painful moan _ . It sounded as if Enjolras was trying to breathe, but he couldn’t. “Enjolras?” Grantaire’s voice sounded strangled, as if he was afraid to say his name. It was so foreign. He never called him that. Only in the greatest need. But when he heard the younger of them whine on the other side, the hand in which he held his cell phone shook. “En—”

“Grantaire.” A chill ran through Grantaire. A goosebumps appeared over his body. He felt as if someone had thrown him into the icy water. His breath caught in his throat. “Grantaire,” Enjolras whimpered again, almost inaudibly.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The way, which normally took almost an hour, was completed in half by Grantaire. He grabbed a taxi and, for a bribe, forced him to break a few entry bans and one-way signs. When he got out, he runned the rest of the way. His lungs burned, his body complained, and he felt that he might collapse any minute. But when he reached Enjolras’s door, he forgot everything. The door was ajar. Grantaire pushed them carefully. Even on a sunny day, the apartment was dark, with Enjolras’ shoes, trousers, and a sweatshirt lying on the floor. Enjolras wore these for running. “Please, no.” He walked into the living room.

Enjolras lay curled up on the couch, his hands clasped at his elbows, shaking. “Apollo…” Enjolras opened his eyes. The fever created a mist in front of his irises that he could barely see through. But the outline of black hair and green sweatshirts smeared with color he could still recognize. Suddenly he felt something cold on his forehead. Grantaire’s palm. “You’re on fire.” He wanted to pull his hand to his body, but Enjolras caught him quickly. “En—”

“No,” Enjolras whispered. He didn’t recognize his voice. He sounded so fragile and weak. He hated it. He hated it when someone saw him so weak. He felt so clueless. “Not yet…” He put his hand back on his forehead. The cold helped him a little from the pain that throbbed in his temples.

“God, Apollo, don’t do this to me.” Grantaire tried to laugh, but they both knew his laught was fake. “You went running, you idiot, right? You’re sick and you went for a run, I’d... ” He growled. He didn’t finish, but it was clear to Enjolras what would follow. He smiled slightly. Grantaire was so nice to him, he was worried about him, and it all seemed like that - Enjolras frowned. Did he really think his friend was  _ cute _ ? “You’re really stupid.” Enjolras muttered something. “Did you eat anything?” He tried to shake his head, but said nothing instead. “So no. Did you at least have tea? Or water?” He nodded at that, but it immediately hurt in his temples. He felt that the pain would kill him!

Grantaire rose to give Enjolras a cold compress, but Enjolras took his hand again. “Don’t go,” Enjolras whispered softly, his eyes trying to find his face. See his bright blue eyes for a moment. God, they were so charming. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted.

“You won’t be, don’t worry,” Grantaire replied kindly, stroking his hair with his hand. They were wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he went into the kitchen, found a clean cloth, soaked it in icy water, and when he squeezed it, hurried back to Enjolras and put it on his forehead. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Cold,” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire removed the rag from his forehead. “But it’s hot too.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” Grantaire began to wipe his red cheeks, nose, and dry lips. When he didn’t move from his face, Enjolras grabbed his hand. “Everywhere,” he whispered again, leading him to his neck; on the collarbones, which were all raised. Enjolras really lost a lot of weight. Grantaire was beginning to worry. “Everywhere,” he whispered as he unbuttoned his sweatshirt.

Grantaire stopped him. “Enjolras, wait a minute.” He turned it on again and leaned in a little. Enjolras could finally see him. He had an expression on his face that he didn’t know. He was still looking at him and his cheeks were cute pink. From what? Anger? Fear? “You’re sweaty, you should take a bath.”

“Yes I… I should,” the blond admitted as he tilted his head and smelled the scent that belonged to him. It was salty and musky. He could feel his clothes sticking to his body. He felt disgusted. “I know.” Still, he closed his eyes and tried to pull his legs closer to his body again to create some warmth.

“Wait here,” the brunette told him as he covered him with a blanket draped over a chair and went to the bathroom. He turned on the water and tried to fill the tub as fast as he could. He added fragrant soap to it, which immediately began to form white bubbles on the surface. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and patted his face several times. “Grantaire, calm down.” He felt his heart jump out of his throat. He had to keep swallowing so that his stomach wouldn’t make him sick. The idea that in a few moments he would have his idol, next to him,  _ naked _ . “All right, all right, all right, Grantaire, calm down and stop acting like an old perverted old man.” He shook his head and turned off the water. The tub was almost full. He walked back to the living room. Enjolras’s eyes were closed, but he knew from his breath that he wasn’t asleep yet. He was still shaking slightly. “Enjolras?” Enjolras opened his blue eyes and looked for him for a moment. He wanted to take a breath to say something, but the brunette just shook his head. “Save your strength. Do you think you can go to the bathroom?”

“I’ll try,” he said softly as he sat down. The world began to spin a little. He put his hand on his head and grunted in pain. How is it possible that at least a hundred drums fit in his head and everyone played differently?

“God, I’m stupid,” Grantaire cursed, quickly pouring water into a clean glass. He helped Enjolras to drink. Although he protested at first, as soon as his throat watered by a few drops, he felt a new strength enter his body. After a few gulps, he pulled away, and Grantaire placed the glass on the table in front of them. He helped Enjolras get up and walked carefully to the bathroom with him. There he put the blonde edge of the bathtub and started to help him out of his clothes. Grantaire’s eyes wandered around the room, trying to tame his trembling fingers. Enjolras noticed, but didn’t comment. When Enjolras was naked, he helped him across the steps to the bathtub. As soon as Enjolras could feel the warm water, he shivered. He sat up faster than he intended and let himself be stroked by water and bubbles that suddenly calmed him. “Dip your palms into the water, it helps with a headache.” Enjolras listened.  _ Wow _ , Grantaire thought,  _ he must be really tired. _

Ten blissful minutes of silence followed. Enjolras sat in the bathtub, his eyes closed, his chin resting on his knees, which he held between his elbows, and his palms immersed in water. It really helped with the pain and gently blunted it. It was definitely more pleasant than before. Meanwhile, Grantaire washed Enjolras’ back with a washcloth, washed his hair, and massaged his temples and neck for a moment. Enjolras felt his heart pound. Everything he did for him… he felt so extremely comfortable. “Come out.” Enjolras opened his eyes and looked at the brunette. He wanted to tell him that he wanted him to continue. To touch him for a moment. His fingers reassured him. “It’ll be worse if you’re in the tub too long.” Grantaire reached out to help him. Enjolras accepted it. But as soon as he rose, his head began to throb again and his knees shaked. “Damn.” Fortunately, Grantaire reacted quickly, grabbed Enjolras around the waist and put him back in the tub. “There’s nothing I can do, we’ll make you a princess.”

“A what?” Grantaire’s strong arms were the answer, which took him around his shoulders and below his knees and pulled him out of the water. Grantaire sat Enjolras on the washing machine so that he was a little taller than the brunette, and wiped him carefully. Enjolras didn’t know what to do, so he just sat there and felt himself tremble - because of the cold temperature in the room, and from Grantaire’s. It was so  _ strange _ . Grantaire took the underwear and T-shirt from the laundry basket and helped Enjolras put them on. He dried his hair carefully.

“Good that you're smaller than me,” Grantaire laughed as he took Enjolras in his arms again and carried him from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“Shut up,” Enjolras whispered softly, and as he laid his head on the pillow, he added, “I'll be taller than you one day.”

“Sure,” Grantaire laughed, covering Enjolras with a thick duvet and throwing another blanket over him. Enjolras shivered immediately and smiled slightly. It was wonderfully warm. He felt tired and wanted to sleep. “Good night,” Grantaire said as he stroked Enjolras’s palm and wanted to leave.

But the same palm stopped him. He looked into Enjolras’s face. He looked at him intently, and after a moment of silence, said, “Stay.”

“Sorry?”

“Stay.”

Grantaire dry swallowed. “Okay.” With that, he sat down on the bed, and Enjolras closed his eyes again and exhaled contentedly. Grantaire had to bite his lip. Seeing Enjolras so vulnerable destroyed him. He never imagined that someone like  _ him  _ could be - he shook his head. He really always thought of him as a man who was invulnerable. And at the end - he was  _ just  _ a man. Why did he keep forgetting about it? Not just him, but everyone around him? Is it even possible that none of them actually knew Enjolras? That they only saw the perfect version he played so well? He felt insecure. As if all he’d been experiencing so far was just a play, and he finally peeked into the script.

“What are you thinking about?” Grantaire winced. He scratched his hair and sighed.

“Don’t you want something to drink?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

There was another moment of silence, but was soon broken by Enjolras. “Lie down with me.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras’s face and blinked in surprise. “What again?”

“Lie down with me,” the younger repeated.

“Jesus, Apollo, is this an attempt to fuck me, or what? I appreciate it, but you should mainly sle—”

“Grantaire.” Grantaire swallowed loudly. This time his name didn’t sound upset, as it always did when it got close to an argument; or annoyed, as every time he interrupted the talk of the younger one or talked about his drunken wanderings. It sounded now -  _ necessarily _ , almost  _ longingly. _ He was nervous about it. “Please.” He had probably never heard his say that word. How could he resist?

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered this time, taking off his dirty sweater and lying down next to Enjolras. He handed him a blanket, swerved to one side, and snuggled closer to the duvet. He lay on his side so he could look at Grantaire. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, patting his fingers nervously on his stomach.

It could only be a few minutes when Enjolras said: “Thank you very much.” The brunette turned his head. His nose rubbed against the younger one. He winced to create some space between them. He had no idea how close they were. Enjolras probably subconsciously crawled closer to the heat, and by all his former lovers, he knew he was  _ warm as hell _ . He probably wanted to snuggle up to him, unaware of what he was doing. Grantaire had to swallow again. Now it was he who needed some water. His throat was completely dry.

“N-nothing happened,” he stammered and cleared his throat.

“Really.” Enjolras blinked a few times, then smiled again. The smile on his face was less common, and Grantaire loved every second of it. He had beautifully shaped lips that glowed bright pink even in the darkness of the room. Enjolras wiped his lips with his tongue and Grantaire’s air got stuck in his throat. As if he knew the elder was watching him. He glanced quickly into his eyes, which were finally open enough and looked as if they were scanning him. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Friends help each other.”

“Oh,” Enjolras whispered, digging his head deeper into the pillow. “And I was hoping I was special to you.”

“What?” Grantaire felt he said nothing else today.

“I thought that all the looks you gave me meant something.” Enjolras had no idea why he said that. He thought about it - yes. More than is healthy - yes. But he didn’t have to say it out loud. One time, after two glasses of vodka with currant juice and three shots of tequila; he told Combeferre. He asked him what he should do with it, and Combeferre asked him then -  _ Do you want it to mean something? _ \- and he didn’t know. All he knew was that he wasn’t able to give anyone that much of his life because he was almost out. He had nothing more to offer. He had nothing to take back. So he didn’t know if Grantaire would ever want what was left of him. So he took no action. He let him give him the looks that made his knees shake. And when the looks became too uncomfortable, he simply tilted his head and pretended not to see anything. When it was too much, he left. It was a bad mechanism, but the only one that worked. But now? With a fever? As if he had forgotten all his learned roles. Only the  _ real Enjolras  _ came to the surface and opened his mouth again before the others could silence him. “You always look at me with a look that makes me stop and tell myself -  _ does Grantaire see something more in me or just another boy out of his many?  _ Do you think I didn’t notice? How could I not. Have you ever seen your eyes? They are so blue. Like the sea. No, no, not the sea. More like the ocean. Yes, like the ocean. The ocean after the storm and all the waves had calmed down and the foam had drained and wetted all the rocks and sank a few ships. So dark, mysterious, and yet so beautiful.” Enjolras laughed. “And they sparkle when you blush. Like now.” Grantaire felt he had forgotten how to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. And what next? He didn’t know what to say. He never named what he felt for Enjolras. If he did, it would be too real. This was enough for him. Being close to him and talking to him, arguing about nonsense. He knew it was the fever who talked. His face was all red and his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I said something weird…”

Grantaire has finally returned to reality. He laughed. “But no, that’s quite kind of you. Or very nice. But Enjolras, you should sleep. Get some sleep from the fever so you can be fine soon. Because I believe you wouldn’t say this normally and I hope you forget it tomorrow, otherwise you’ll blame yourself for the rest of your life. You know what, we’re not best friends, but the little thing we had it’s enough for me. Really. At least that we’re together. Like this. Please, could y—”

“You're blabbering.” Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the chin and turned him toward him. Grantaire closed his mouth. “You’re blabbering,” he repeated as he rose to his elbows and moved his fingers from his chin to his unshaven face. His beard was long enough to stroke his hand comfortably. Enjolras smiled. “You’re blabbering. You always do this when you are nervous or trying to hide your true feelings. You know you don’t have to do that with me, do you?”

“Apo—”

“It’s  _ Enjolras _ .” That was the last thing he told him before he leaned over and kissed him. His hot, dry lips met wet and cracked. Grantaire took a deep breath before Enjolras squeezed his nose. His whole body was wooden. He could feel only Enjolras’s delicate lips -  _ oh god, they were as delicate as stroking a just blooming rose _ \- dry lips -  _ as if he dipped his head into the cleaned sand _ \- hungry lips -  _ those lips that slowly opened and seductively bitten on his _ \- hot lips - _ like if he came out of hell. _ Grantaire made a strangled sound and the younger man finally pulled away. Before Grantaire could say anything, Enjolras let out a quiet moan. But Grantaire heard him. He heard  _ his name _ moan softly, which sounded so perfect from his mouth. “Gra—” Now it was Grantaire who didn’t let the younger finish. He grabbed his head from behind with his hand and forced him to lean forward. They kissed again. But this time it was the brunette who set the pace. He began to move his lips against his, letting them flow together, slowly soaking in their saliva as their tongues intertwined. They tasted each other. Enjolras tasted of water, wild strawberries; and Grantaire of cigarettes and stale beer. Neither minded the taste. Enjolras placed his palms on Grantaire’s chest. He felt his heart pound. He moved one hand to his palm and placed it on his chest. Grantaire pulled away from him and looked him in the face. He could feel Enjolras’ heart pounding under his fingers. Grantaire wasn’t waiting for anything, he pressed against his lips again and kissed him for a long time.

After a few minutes, their taste mixed together and slowly faded; they pulled away from each other. They were both short of breath, their lips swollen, and their cheeks were in cute shade of pink. “Thank you,” Enjolras whispered, who, despite his condition, was the first to catch his breath. “Thank you.”

“For kissing?” The brunette laughed.

“No,” Enjolras replied strangely seriously. “For everything. For what you did for me. You’re... very kind.” With that, he lay on Grantaire’s chest and listened to his heart. It was already calm. The rhythm soothed him. He still wanted to smile. “No one... has ever... done this for me. Thank you.” He closed his eyes and exhaled contentedly. “This is the first time.”

Before Grantaire could answer, Enjolras fell asleep.

After half an hour of watching the ceiling and feeling Enjolras’s breath on his skin, Grantaire decided he could get up without fear of waking the younger one. He placed him carefully on the pillow, covered him up to his neck, and stroked his hair. Enjolras was still smiling from his sleep. Grantaire wanted to lean in again and kissed him. He wanted him to wake up and start kissing again. He wanted to kiss him until morning.

Grantaire bit his lip. He got out of bed quickly, leaving the door open if the younger man called him and needed help or he felt sick; and walked into the living room. With a loud thud, he sat down on the sofa, grunted, and ran his hands through his face. “What the  _ fuck  _ just happened?” He asked in the silence of the room, taking several deep breaths. He wiped his lips with his tongue. He could still feel Enjolras’s taste. They tasted so  _ good _ \- Grantaire shook his head. Why did he keep thinking about it?

He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. He fought against it for so long. For so long he had tried to be  _ just  _ Enjolras’s  _ friend _ . He tried so long that he could be with him and not let anything spoil it. And now? His efforts came to naught thanks to the blonde. Thanks for taking the first step; for being the first to dare taste his mouth; because he fell ill and his fever forced him to say what he was suffocating.

“Shit,” Grantaire whispered, tapping his feet nervously on the ground. “Fuck.” Grantaire felt a hot wave flood his chest, marking only one thing - the barrier of his efforts broke, love spilled out. It flooded his entire person, shaking his knees, sweating his forehead and arms. There was nothing that could be done. Grantaire had to accept it. “Fuck,  _ I love you _ ,” he whispered into the silence of the room before falling asleep exhausted, too.

Grantaire was awakened by the unpleasant sound of his phone. He quickly reached into his pocket for him to turn off. But when his younger sister’s name appeared on the display, he sat down quickly, shook his head a few times to ward off all dreams —  _ of Enjolras, of his lips, of his wonderful warmth _ — and pressed the green button on the display. “I’m listening.”

“ _ Brother?” _ Her cute voice immediately made him a smile. “ _ I couldn’t get you, it’s everything okay?”  _

Grantaire looked at the display again and only now found that he had four missed calls from his sister. He swore softly so she wouldn't hear him, and put his cell phone to his ear again. “I'm sorry, I slept, there was a lot going on now.”

“ _ I see, but don’t scare me like that next time _ ,” she said in her typical, reprimanding voice, which sounded as if she were trying to sing. His sister was simply the epitome of innocence and cuteness. He didn’t even understand how they could be siblings. They were so different. “ _ I’m on my way, Amara is waiting.” _

“Amara?” Grantaire blinked incomprehensibly. Amara was - Grantaire slapped his forehead. How could he forget? His sister went to Spain with her school for a week to do some biological research in the sea. He didn’t understand, so he didn’t ask any more questions. All he knew was that she would be gone for a week and someone had to take care of her cat. Or, as Grantaira liked to call her,  _ the red creature of hell. _ He loved animals, but he and Amara never fell in love. Maybe because she hated the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. And that was Grantaire’s hallmark.

Gratamira was distracted by the question, “ _ You haven't forgotten, have you? _ ”

“Of course not!” He laughed abruptly, and from the sigh from the other side he realized that his sister didn't believe him. “I’m just - I’m now - I’m not home. I’m with a friend. He’s not feeling well, so I take care of him. Or, no, wait, that sounded stupid. Not that I take care about him, I’m not his mom, am I? Not that Mom used to take care of us, so I’d actually know what it’s like, but—”

“ _ Brother _ ,” his sister stopped him.  _ “It’s alright. I’ll ask someone else…” _

Grantaire already had on his tongue -  _ And who when we’re both the same outcasts? _ \- but he bit his tongue so as not to say anything like that. His sister couldn’t bear their family situation. “It’s okay! I’ll take care of that  _ Satan _ . And you know I would love it! But could you bring her here for me? Or somewhere nearby? I don’t want to leave that friend alone, he doesn’t really look good.”  _ But he tastes wonderfully _ , flashed through his head and he felt his cheeks flush. He shook his head. Why did he still have to think about it?

_ “I’ll try to. So where are you? _ ” Grantaire told her the address, and in half an hour his sister was standing with a crate in front of Enjolras’s apartment. As soon as Grantaire took the crate, the cat began to meow hard. They said goodbye for a good ten minutes until Grantaire wanted to give her back to her sister. The two had an unhealthy relationship that he didn’t like. They talked about it a few times, but she’d always grounded him with the question -  _ And how’s your girlfriend? Wine, right? Or did you switch to a harder wool, like tequila? _ \- He taught her well. 

When they finally said goodbye, Grantaire walked back into the apartment, checked to see if Enjolras was asleep, and walked into the living room. He placed the crate next to the couch. “Are you hungry?” He asked the cat, which just hissed at him, turned her back to him, and curled up in a ball in the corner. “I don’t like you either,” he said as he got up and went into the kitchen so he could make Enjolras breakfast.

Once everything was ready, he went to his room with a plate and hot tea. He placed black tea with honey and ginger on the bedside table, next to which he placed a plate lined with baguettes and a medicine for fever and nausea. He looked at the bed. Enjolras was still asleep. Unlike in the past days, his hair now fell on his closed eyelids, from which grew the longest lashes he had ever seen on a man. His nose was a little red, as were his cheeks and forehead. He wasn’t sweating anymore. His lips were parted, wet from the constant licking of his tongue, and occasionally he sighed from his sleep. The tip of the duvet protruded in one hand and pressed it to his chest. As if he was snuggling up to someone. Enjolras looked vulnerable. Maybe that made Grantaire sit on the bed and touch his face with his finger. It was still hot, but not as hot as last night. Oh, how he scared him. He wanted to yell at him, curse him, laugh at him, cry. Little did he know that he was able to feel so many emotions at once. Until he kissed him. All thoughts evaporated from his head, only one emotion settled on his chest, and his body listened only to the basic instinct he advised — _ be there for him and do everything to keep him happy _ .

His fingers slid off his face a little lower, to the outline of his lips. They were as soft as silk. Still innocent, undamaged and untouched for years. He knew that Enjolras had never had a serious relationship. He knew from Courfeyrac that he already had a few partners, but no one stayed more than a few months. Enjolras himself claimed that he wasn’t the  _ right material  _ for dating. His fingers went a little lower, to his lower lip. As soon as Enjolras, even in his sleep, felt the pressure on his lips, he closed them and kissed him gently on the knucklebone of his dirty skin from paint and cigarettes.

After last night, however, he understood why they had stayed at least those few months. He kissed perfectly.

Grantaire quickly withdrew his hand to his body. “My God,” he whispered angrily as he got out of bed and went back to the room next door to sit on the couch. “I have to sleep.” He was tired. Not physically, but mentally. Little did he know that a kiss could make him so confused. The problem was that it wasn’t just any kiss. It was a kiss from  _ Enjolras _ .

Only his name made his heart pound. Grantaire leaned back, stared at the ceiling, and sighed. Sleep will certainly help him.

Even before Grantaire woke up, he felt infinite warmth. It was as if someone had wrapped him in a blanket and pressed against him. His fingers reached for the heat. He felt only a gentle touch that made him snuggle even harder. He felt protected. The night was flooded with the smell of strawberries and something he couldn’t identify. “ _ Thank you _ ,” it said somewhere above him, so softly he almost overheard it.

No one was with him when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. After a while, he recognized orange rays that, despite the blinds, had entered the room and colored her in warm colors. He sat down. The blanket wrapped around him fell into his lap. He frowned. He didn’t remember covering himself. He touched his face, which still felt the strange warmth. Maybe it wasn’t — He shook his head. “It must have been Amara, somehow she got out and - Amara!” He shouted, glancing quickly beside the couch. The crate was open. He began to look around the room. She wasn’t under the table, or the couch, nor was she hiding under the heater or jumping on the windowsill.  _ Maybe she was hungry _ , he thought as he left for the kitchen. But she wasn’t there either. “Where the hell are you?” He asked himself as he closed the sideboard, as if she could open the door and snuggle on one of the plates. His eyes focused on the small light coming from Enjolras’s room. He still had the door ajar. “Damn, no,” he whimpered as he hurried to the door and shoved it discreetly.

He was ready for Amara to sit at his desk with his hard-working school materials and books torn around her. He was beginning to think about how best to get rid of her and how much damage it would cost him when he was surprised that Amara was in the room, but she was not acting like the devil, which the brunette was used to. No, she sat on Enjolras’ lap and purr to the rhythm of Enjolras’s gentle touches, caressing her red fur. The blond sat on the bed, his laptop on, and tones of calm, instrumental music flowing through the room. According to the slow touches he made to the keyboard, he probably read something. He smiled slightly. Occasionally he looked at his lap and his gaze softened. If he ever managed to lie that he didn’t love Enjolras, he just fell in love with him right now.

_ Wait, fell in love _ ?

“Grantaire.” Grantaire winced. Enjolras stared at him, and Amara, whom he had stopped stroking for interruption, cast one of her usual, hostile glances at him.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry.” Enjolras blinked at the sign that he didn’t understand. “That I bring a cat here, or that you have a cat here, please, I don’t understand at all how she could have slipped out of the crate. Certainly-”

“Grantaire, it’s all right,” Enjolras stopped his confused speech. “I got up a few hours ago, and when I finally got better, I went to pour some water and saw her lying in the crate, waiting for someone to take her out. You were asleep, and she began to meow so softly and look at me with the beautiful, brown eyes…” He began to scratch Amara under her chin, and she gave him a sweet whimper and began to purr again. She closed her eyes and lowered her ears slightly. Grantaire had only seen her like that with his sister. “I let her go, I gave her some tuna I found in the fridge. I hope you don’t mind.” He stopped scratching Amara and she whimpered unhappily. But Enjolras looked back at the brunette, who was still standing in the doorway. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“She belongs to my sister.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of her before.”

“About the cat?”

Enjolras laughed softly and shook his head. “About your sister.”

“Yeah, she’s a treasure.” He moved closer to the bed to take Amara back to the living room. As soon as he reached out to her, the cat cringed and squirmed uncomfortably at him. Grantaire immediately withdrew, and Enjolras laughed softly. “I don’t see how she can have such a creature of hell.”

“I think she’s cute,” he said as he began to scratch her head again, and the cat snuggled closer to him.

“Wait until you know her better,” the elder protested, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared at the two for a moment. They looked like they belonged together. He always thought that Enjolras was more of a typical goldfish breeder, because he had no time for anything else in his busy schedule; but as he watched how expertly he scratched and cuddled Amara, he wanted to get him some kitten. Maybe as golden as his hair. He laughed. He would never find such a perfect color. So maybe black as coal. His kitty version that would sleep for days and cuddle in his sleep so that she could touch his delicate skin with her paws and perhaps, from time to time, lick his cheek with her rough tongue—

“Are you all right, Grantaire?” Grantaire winced. He immediately felt his cheeks flush.  _ What the hell was he thinking about?  _ “You’re kind of red!.”

“I sweated a lot as I slept.”

“I was cold, so I covered you so you wouldn’t get sick. But now I realized that I was cold because of the fever and maybe I overheated you. I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, smiling apologetically.

“Overhe... _ Ohh.” _ Grantaire suddenly realized. He did fall asleep in the morning. Just after his sister wrote him a message that she had crossed the border. The sun was setting now. How long did he sleep? Did he curl up on the couch alone, or did Enjolras help him? And doesn’t that mean that when he felt the wet kiss, it was another Enjorlas kiss, and not just a figment of his imagination? He fidgeted and tapped his feet nervously on the ground. He didn’t want Enjolras to tell him that he was uncomfortable. Now he was glad that their friend was known for not seeing through human feelings. “It won’t be that.”

“I didn’t infect you, did I?”

“Certainly not. Bacterias are afraid of me.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading.”

“I hope at least something brackish, like  _ 50 shades of gray. _ ”

“What is that?”

“Just a book,” He smiled. “I have the impression that Courfeyrac has it at home. And all the sequels. So ask him about it, he will definitely be happy to lend it to you.”

“Okay. I’ll ask him.”

“Oh, please,” Grantaire said with a smile. “But I want to be there when you ask him.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” They were silent for a moment when Grantaire finally decided to ask, “How are you?”

“Much better.” Enjolras pointed to the bedside table. Everything was gone. “Thank you for breakfast. And tea. And pills.”

“You finished everything?” He asked in surprise, and Enjolras just nodded. “Finally, that you might be a good patient.”

“Don’t be so happy. Whenever I feel better, I start sinning soon enough.”

“Sining? You? I would like to experience that one day,” the elder laughed. It wasn’t until he said that that the memories of last night came before his eyes. Their touches, their kisses, the way he washed his hair -  _ he had them so soft, thanks to the coconut and honey shampoo _ \- how they kissed. He could feel himself blushing again. And this time, he didn’t seem to be the only one who remembered. Even Enjolras’s cheeks were suddenly a little darker, and he had to lick his lips again. As soon as Grantaire saw the tip, he swallowed dry. Why was it suddenly so hard to tame? He managed it so easily and now all of a sudden—

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thank you,” he said again. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire said, feeling the nervousness that had settled on his chest finally let go a little.

The next few days ran like water. Although it seemed strange to both of them, Enjolras behaved in an exemplary manner. When Grantaire asked him not to work - he really didn’t work. When he wanted him to eat or swallow one of the pills Combeferre had brought him - he did it. When he told him to cover himself with another blanket, because they couldn’t risk him getting cold again - he covered himself. Each time he listened, Grantaire felt he couldn’t help but smile.

Every day was practically the same. Grantaire made tea in a thermos in the evening and made breakfast, hiding it in the fridge. He woke up later than the blond boy, who then poured himself hot tea in the morning and ate everything his friend had prepared. He took his medication and began work. Always in his room, wrapped in a blanket and next to his right hand a hot tea, while Amara warmed his lap, refusing to move. Grantaire always woke up at noon, stretched, made coffee, smoked two cigarettes, and made soup for lunch. He brought her to Enjolras’ room. He ate it during a broadcast of political debates. At that moment, Grantaire was leaving for school. Enjolras then worked for another hour, and then went to bed. Amara always snuggled against his back and fell asleep as well. Grantaire returned in four hours and found them sleeping in the bedroom. He ate, did some homework, maybe cleaned up a little, made coffee again, and smoked three cigarettes. Enjolras didn’t wake until dinner, which Grantaire had brought to his room, where they talked about the day they had spent. Grantaire talked about the school, his classmates, the exhibitions, complained about the teachers and cursed at everything that was going on in art. Always in the evening, Combeferre called, and occasionally Courfeyrac joined him, who was all turned off after a few minutes of talking because he had constant allusions to Enjolras and Grantaire behaving like a married couple. Grantaire then always began to babble and was all red in the face, while Enjolras always had a neutral expression on his face and just rolled his eyes. But if someone sat close enough to him, then everyone would notice that the tips of his ears were pink. Sometimes they watched a movie, sometimes they talked until the morning hours. Enjolras always fell asleep first. Grantaire covered him up to his neck and Amara curled up at his chest. He tried to throw her out the door every night, but each time he ended up with a new, deep scratch on his hand.

After a week, Enjolras was finally better. The fever was gone, he wasn’t sick to his stomach, and he was even able to endure a few minutes in the hot sun when he needed to suck in some fresh air into his lungs and walk to the balcony. However, still wrapped in a blanket and under the supervision of a brunette.

When Enjolras walked into the living room for lunch a week later and smiled at Grantaire, they realized that Enjolras was fine. He was still leaning against his chair because he felt weak, but they both attributed it to his great weight loss, which he was trying to regain. Grantaire knew it was time for him to leave, and they both began to live their private, free lives.

They sat opposite each other and ate. The brunette was still talking during lunch. He talked about everything he could think of. Because he was terrified to think he would have to say goodbye soon. It was actually weird. They had never been close with Enjolras, and perhaps all that was between them was misunderstandings and a great deal of sexual tension. However, after these two weeks, he felt as if something had broken between them. But neither of them could name it.

When they finished their meals, Grantaire sighed and pushed the empty plate into the center of the table. “So I think it’s time to go. I’ve been oxidizing here for a long time, I believe you need to have a moment to yourself too, and you’ll be glad I don’t bother your space.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but he didn’t really know what to say. Now that he was well, it was so hard to thank him or express his true feelings. His heart screamed at him, but his brain tried to tame him. He was back in his usual learned role. “I enjoyed it. In fact, yes. I think I’m ready to be a dad now. The baby won’t die with me. Yay! Although… me as a dad? Poor child,” he laughed, rising slowly from his seat.

“Wait!” Enjolras shouted louder than he intended and faster than his brain could stop him. Grantaire winced and sat up quickly. “Wait…” he whispered, swallowing. “You can sleep here one more night. If you want.”

Grantaire blinked and smiled when he finally understood what the blond had said. “Really?” He asked, a little surprised, but he couldn’t deny how happy he was.

Enjolras knew it. During those days together, he started to understand Grantaire’s expressions. The smile returned to him for a short moment. “Yes.”

“Fine, well… okay. Hope you understand what you brought to the apartment.” Enjolras just nodded. “I’m like a bedbug, really. You can’t get rid of me.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Enjolras said, frowning.

“I know, don’t worry,” Grantaire laughed, but somewhere inside him, the typical flame of disbelief was still burning. Sometimes he hated his personality. He couldn’t enjoy the beautiful things. It’s always ruined by his conscience and character. “So I’m going to occupy your couch again today.”

“Or…”

Grantaire waited for Enjolras to finish his sentence, but instead he started poking a fork in uneaten food, so he asked, “Or?”

“Or not.” He looked at the brunette and licked his lips with his tongue. He saw Grantaire watch him and watch every move he made. He ran his tongue into the corner of his mouth to lengthen his gaze a little. Something about the gleam in his eyes caught his eye. “We can watch a film or have fun about my new project where I will need a little help with your artistic skills. Or…” He paused. “Or we can go out. At least for a while. To get used to the heat of what is now and gain some strength after lying in bed for so long and being locked up. We don’t have to go far, just across the street to the park. At the fountain, a stallman sells strawberries. I’ve never eaten better in my life. We can have a few, sit on a bench. Being older, I’d suggest we feed the pigeons there.” Grantaire laughed at the idea. He imagined them both sitting there, eighty, almost deaf, shouting at each other across the park, and laughing out loud and pigeons swirling around them, eating baguettes from their hands. “Then we could go home, because I can’t be outside so long after illness. And we’ll have leftovers from lunch. And the lunch was wonderful, Grantaire.” Grantaire looked down and smiled. He loved being praised. He probably never heard it at home. So his sister. He heard more swearing from partners than a declaration of love. Maybe that’s why he was an artist. He longed for someone to tell him that he was worth something, and once he was really proud of him. Even if it was just one person. If only Enjolras knew how much the sentence meant to him. “And we would watch a movie. Nothing serious, no drama, no action movie. More like something like… a comedy? Which sounds pretty absurd to me, and I have no idea which channels I have any such shows on. And then maybe we could discuss some passages from the book that Courfeyrac lent me, and I’ll honestly curse you for it until the end of my days, because the boy wants me to tell him how I liked it, so I have to finish it.” 

Grantaire laughed. “Sounds almost like a date.” He bit his lip as he noticed Enjolras widened his eyes. 

Again. Every time something comes out in his favor, he spoils it with his actions or his uncensored mouth. He always spoils everything.

He was about to get up when Enjolras took a deep breath and added, “And then you can sleep here.”

“Yeah,” said Grantaire.

There was a moment of silence, which was broken again by a blond boy. Grantaire noticed how nervously he started to play with the rim of the tablecloth. “You can choose where you want to sleep.”

Grantaire swallowed loudly. “And what are my options?”

“I’d offer my friend a couch. It’s not the most comfortable, but you can sleep on it. You must be used to him after the time here.” Grantaire nodded. “But… But I would offer my bed to a potential partner. It’s big enough for two people. Comfortable. I also have two duvets and two pillows. Maybe I already knew when shopping that I would need it one day.” Grantaire opened his mouth slightly. Indeed, Enjolras now asked him if— “But it would only be for a boy who would like to go with me to buy strawberries in the park and eat them there and watch a movie and then discuss how terrible the book about lovemaking is, but maybe it’s not so bad at certain, um, ideas.” Enjolras was certainly not the only one who blushed. But the offer only applies to those who would go on...a date with me.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said again, and without thinking about it, he replied, “The description of your bed sounds pretty tempting. It was wonderful when I lied down on it last time.” They both knew they remembered their kiss, and if Enjolras was sick again and Grantaire wouldn’t tame himself; surely they would have leaned across the table a long time ago and kissed again. They needed it. Maybe they  _ needed each other _ . But it was still early to speak about it.

“The truth is, I wanted to hear that,” Enjolras said gravely.

“Very well,” said Grantaire, rising from his seat, taking both plates in his hand and placing them in the sink. “Can we go?” Instead of answering, Enjolras went up to the hall so they could leave. Grantaire was glad to be alone in the kitchen because he began to smile like a madman. He looked at Amara, who was lounging on the kitchen counter, and said, “You’re sleeping in the living room today.” Amara meowed unhappily.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com) a newly on Wattpad [Niki Angel](https://www.wattpad.com/user/2W_NikiAngel)


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